Two Days With The Quiet Man

I looked through the kitchen drawers, and there was nothing besides the basic stuff. Connor didn't even have a junk drawer. Across the other side of the room was the roll-top desk, and I approached it with more than a little trepidation, because I had a hunch that he would take a dim view of me trying to figure out who this guy was.

I opened the desk carefully and there it was. Connor's entire life. I tried to memorize exactly the way everything was in the desk, and I use the word 'everything' in reference to the manila folder and the little box, which were holding all of the secrets of a man's life.

Fifteen minutes later, I took one last look to make sure everything was in place before rolling the top of the desk back down and going back outside to clear some rocks. Connor returned shortly afterward, and when he saw my reddened and wet face he probably assumed I had been working instead of crying.

The mystery of David Connor had been inside that desk, and while the suspense about who this guy was had been killing me, knowing what I knew now made me wish I never looked in that desk.

Chapter Seven : David Alan Connor

How do you sum up a man's life when all you know fits in a manila envelope? Very little of what was in that envelope was fluff, although the there was a picture that looked as if it was taken at Sears of a plain looking woman and a cute little kid.

The rest was legal stuff. Apparently David Alan Connor had gotten married right out of high school and had managed to impregnate his wife before getting his draft notice.

There was some mention of him being sent to Vietnam, but that was where the story got ugly. The legal papers suggested that he had made an effort to find his wife when he returned, who had apparently taken their son and disappeared, but there was no indication that he was successful in ever finding her.

What happened in between David Alan Connor going to Vietnam and his less than triumphant return home? Apparently there was a stay in a prisoner of war camp, one that lasted about 3 years, and when he finally got free and was able to come home he learned things had changed.

He got his picture in the paper, and when I looked at the handsome young man with a chest full of medals and a head full of hair, I tried to imagine what he thought when he got home and found his wife and child were gone.

It was tough to figure out what had actually happened. The papers suggested that his wife may have thought her husband had been killed in battle, but there were also indications that she had simply met up with a guy and grew tired of waiting for her husband to return. Maybe she thought he never would.

Judging from what I saw, he never saw his wife and child again. She just disappeared, and it wasn't for lack of trying on Connor's part judging by the bills from a detective agency. Apparently the two of them just vanished without a trace, and I guess you have to want to really do that way to make it work. Was there a reason? There was no way of telling.

Either way, the thought of that man coming back to that news was heart-breaking and well as frightening. Now probably in his fifties, Connor was an amazingly imposing character physically and mentally. Back then? The idea of this man in a rage was terrifying.

Yet Connor hadn't been mean to me. He was rough, crude, cold and abrupt but hadn't shown any anger. It was more of the thought of what was lurking underneath, or so I thought in my active imagination.

His lovemaking, if you could call it that, was savage but it was also tender in a strange way. He was just a man of few words. Was he always like that? Maybe he was a wise-cracking fun loving guy back then. Maybe that guy disappeared along with his family.

Those scars partially hidden under the pelt of hair on his back? My mind went to this movie with Sylvester Stallone about a man coming back from the war, and I shuddered when I recalled how sexy he had been standing there being abused.

That was different. That wasn't real torture. It was just an actor acting and the scars were only make-up and me drooling over a guy I thought was hot. Connor? This man was real, and the more I thought about what this man went through, both over there and back home, the more depressed I got.

There was no ticker-tape parade for him, and probably no greeting at the airport when he returned. Just a bunch of medals and an empty house for your troubles. When I thought how sorry I felt for myself over my trivial dramas I couldn't stop my eyes from filling up.

I had to get out of this place. It was impossible for me to look at him anymore as we worked together in the field. I wanted to hug him and tell him how sorry I was for what he went through. I wanted to thank him for pretty much sacrificing his life so I could stay safely at home wasting my time with idiots like Donald.

That wouldn't do. I just wanted to get back home.

Chapter Eight: The last night.

I told Connor over dinner that I had decided to go back home. I had prepared an elaborate speech about me leaving, but Connor took it with a blank expression and a grunt before telling me he would drive me back to Fort Wayne in the morning.

After dinner we showered together, and after being dried off I was brought to bed, where Connor took me in his savagely sensuous way. Twice, just like the night before, and after he came the second time he rolled over and started to breathe normally.

I rolled over to face his back, and in the murky darkness I looked at his broad shoulders and the pelt of hair than went down to the base of his spine. Somewhere under there - I shuddered when I thought about it and then tried not to any longer - and then I reached out with one shaky hand and touched the coarse fur.

Connor jumped when he felt my hand, and while I wouldn't have been surprised if he turned around and belted me, he didn't. My hand made gentle strokes over his muscled back, and when he didn't make any other reaction I slowly inched myself over until I was spooned up against his backside.

My hand slid around Connor, and although I could feel his body tense at my touch he did nothing. It wasn't sexual but in another way it was. I was trying to tell him that I was just like him in one way. We both thought nobody cared about us but that wasn't true with him. I cared, even though I was going to leave.

I fell asleep just like that, and it must have been near daybreak when I felt Connor squirm out of my embrace to go to the bathroom.

Chapter Nine: Goodbye.

The morning was uneventful. We had coffee and as Connor washed the cups I grabbed a broom to putter around. He seemed to like that, because I thought he almost smiled, but it might have been my imagination too.

Connor indicated that it was time to go and so I got my meager belongings together and hopped in his truck for the ride into town. No small talk, although that was no surprise and I had learned that it was best not to pollute the air with my chatter.

I did notice Connor slow down and look at a young guy hitchhiking on the other side of the road. I wondered whether that kid would be the recipient of a ride from Connor, and in one of my mental flights of fantasy I had myself asking Connor whether he was going to pick-up that guy after he dropped me off.

Connor pulled up at the bus station, and I certainly wasn't expecting an emotional parting but was surprised when Connor asked me as I was getting out of the truck if I needed money.

"No, I'm fine," I said after hearing the sentence that was like a filibuster for Connor. "Thanks a lot for everything, Connor. I appreciate it."

I got a nod and a wave from Connor, and just like that we were both on our ways. I was going back to upstate New York and whatever awaited me there, and Connor was headed back to his place.

Would he have company? I thought about that on the long bus ride home as well as many times in the past. I hoped Connor did pick up the kid. If you were alone and hurting you could do a lot worse than him, I mused. I had in the past and would in the future.

As for Connor, I hoped he would find companions when he needed them. My real hope was that he would find that one someone that he would want to hang onto. Someone that he would open up with and allow into his heart, but I suspect that he was one of those guys who only let one person in that close, and that person was gone.

Does he ever think about me, or was I just another lost soul that he ran into along the way? Obviously I still think about him from time to time.

I wish you well regardless, my friend.

***

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